Best Pummelled Poems
"The Hummingbird Cake"
The day started bright -
Bright Eggshell Blue
and ended in percussion
dark and cloudy stormed in
thunder pummelled drums
against a backdrop of
bruised eggshell dijon yellow
sweating heavy sage green
spitting spoilt the swollen pride of purple,
a wet abrasion against
Electric Blue
crackling along her lips
like Lightening
Sizzled on
her bitumen
her mind
winked at you...
Splits two
into one
not three
Taken slowly
deliberately
cake digested
swallowed like swallows
nibbling freely on air
a symphony of do you see me
in a Hummingbird storm
stairs to you she stares
upwards forever upwards
at lines of ebony tied tight
words kick and spit
like a cat in heat caught up
in a hessian sack
words in a puzzle
shaken and caste
on a playing board
pure white
not black
She,
Third person,
always Third person,
listens to her own heart
and then listens to the
words you have put on
and slowly worn warm
Revisits in her evening
a conversation with an old friend
Lorikeets on the balcony
Passionfruit cake and their
beaks in honey
a day in the life of Mosman
Carmen the dancer
Blueberries and
Raspberry Banana Bread
and Gold Crested
Pterodactyl Cockatoos
commandeering her kitchen
her gangster lovers
dead ends and loose screws
The day started bright blue
Ended in a thunder clap
boiling over onto a glowing hotplate
of flying embers,
reckless kisses and an unplanned
Storm;
A piece of Hummingbird Cake
was fed through a thread
In dreams while you watched
a movie in bed
Spoken to you
through
mind cerebral
not Reality read
Poppyseed and Honey
Bees buzzing on swollen
unheard lips
that silently bled Red
Words
Meanings
Life
Read
Red
Sugar ingested,
Honey to Blue Horse Flies.
Australiana
Fed.
Sleep,
Bed.
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"Listen to the Hummingbird" / Leonard Cohen
https://youtu.be/hYIeW8bwlWQ
"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher
https://youtu.be/wHVuW7eOPNI
"Cosmic Dancer" / T.Rex
https://youtu.be/GMfjA4gyEcU
"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher, Lyrics
https://genius.com/Liam-gallagher-meadow-lyrics
The rain came and pummelled her. She did not stop walking.
A tree limb fell, knocking her down. She got back up.
Lightning came, but she did not fold, she was too determined.
A man stopped and tried to give her a lift. She said "no thank you."
She had already seen what some men do, and she wanted none of it.
He called her names, shook his fist. She was glad she had said no.
A flood came and she walked on higher land. Careful of the violets.
The evening came, and the wolves howled. She howled with them.
She walked until she could walk no more, leaving all her stuff behind.
Only things, not her child. Her child was with her, vigilant, watching.
"He was a bad man," her child said. She barely nodded, knowing.
They curled up together, safe for the first night. Wolves stood guard.
The knob turned
And opened the door
The door of the apartment
On the first floor
And the sudden gasp
Of air that the fireplace exhaled
Knocked an ember
To the floor
An ember that had been glowing
In the hearth
The room, a peaceful space
Warm but gloomy
As it slowly cooled down
The mercury downcast
And receding fast
“Close the door”! The inspector barked
Without looking ‘round
And with the click-thunk sound
His from followed the mercury
As it slowly pummelled
From his forehead
“Very curious”, said the man
In the coat
“Within a locked room,
This man may have been smote”
No open windows
No unlocked door
As the ember absently
Scorched the floor
Examining the body
The inspector soon found
A pocket of stones
And a pocket of ground
And as he thought
He absentmindedly made
A muttering sound
The rain pelted
The ground
Into submission
As rivulets of tears
Ran down panes
To coagulate into streams
To flow past
The old cemetery
At the end of Murray street
Where many a corpse
Wrapped in a sheet
Waited silently
For the trump
But there is more a decomposition
Than a composition around
It was there
Where
Those smooth stones
Were found
- The same place as the ground
The inspector knew
‘tis there that the man had gone
To a place of death
With which he was now one
To place of rest
Is it possible? Rest?
To where his love lay deep
Under the shadows of grazing sheep
To sleep, to sleep
But not a dream
His death was his last
Longing scream
The rocks and the ground
Was his last request
To lay with his love
To lay down and rest
Godfather
A rigid neck that looks forward without turning
Till the face is flat pummelled by angry elements
Whose twinkly eyes neither blink nor steal a hood
In case, in a split second, humanity is left insecure.
Whose time to eat is not on his busy schedule-
Morsel may briefly quieten voice to teach Piety.
Would I, therefore, find any fault with that stoicism
Or in his static quick march- marching at a halt
(Until there is a hole enough to ooze a cool pat!)
His momentary reprieve; gone to some chores
Might subject the brood to threat unthinkable.
For his perpetual presence and open guidance
Is as assuring the billboard pointing the Way!
Dr. Ram Mehta, Billboard in the wet, cold rain
Who holds post to, once again, direct others
Soaked by the cold rain, yet with a heart satisfied
For the Duty to save others and not save yourself!
Should, godfather, a blink you chance or steal
Cares of this World may, by stealth, quietly visit
And warp our convictions with wicked murmurs
Murmurs that drip honey which sips into hearts
Turning us into a heap of salt for looking backwards!
My eyes I do pledge to look no any other direction
Except to the way by your long finger is pointed
And, to fawn on the Spirit that nurtured you this long
With bonhomie, discernment and poetic prowess!
Prayer with no end I utter beseeching, godfather,
On that Day, to inherit the Sceptre you’re holding!
***Dedication to one and only Dr. Ram Mehta for the invaluable guidance his sublime poems bestow.
JM
24th Nov’ 2013
Today, we saw the handwriting of imperialism
On the walls of our democracy
Today, our sovereignty is on the scaffold,
Pilloried by a white supremacist,
Who threatened our country and her people.
Mr Secretary has written a long list
Threatening our leaders from venturing on their soil;
A proclaimed God's own country,
Where God really does not matter,
But desires that are too alien for a normal thinking mind.
On Blinken's List
Are names of men who bear our names and culture
And the Africanness that we portray.
We are no second-class people
Whose leaders can be threatened by the power of arms by America.
Blinken wrote to teach us right from wrong
But right in His backyard, more evil looms,
The US election is under scrutiny,
The Texas shooting is still fresh in our minds.
Blinking or Blinken
Mr. Secretary, stop blinking
For we are wise enough to know your inkling;
The lands you have ravaged,
And the people that have gone back to the dust,
Through the power of ammunitions you wield,
In Afghanistan and Iraq
And your love for the zionist oppressor.
A Visa Ban
One meant for your barn
And your land which will
Never be close to the beauty of paradise.
We no longer believe in you and your values
And we have no resources for you and your cronies to loot.
Tell us what good is in your country;
Hell packaged in a pleasure box
Sought by those ready to be doomed,
All your men are fast becoming women
In the name of being gay.
And your fallen dollar value
Should be a headache from the BRICS.
Tell us what is good about your land,
The drugs and the constant shootings that have become a norm,
The vices and the oppression of which your castles were built
Are issues enough for your table.
We are Africans
We are a people of worth
Who will never bow to any bully,
We are a loving people
And we can't be forced to roam our streets like your naked ones.
The days of colonisation have passed,
We can no longer accept your acts of re-colonization,
Through your list of deceit,
Where our professors are being pummelled
And our leaders are being accused
Of a crime which they never committed.
Like you have traitors
We have the treacherous
For we are a people of varying tribes
And of sages and scribes
And we also have a right
To stop you from stepping on our soil.
Ayinla Muyideen
(C) 2023
Flirty feisty fists pummelled pretty parts of her bare skinned body,
Lovers long lost in eyes the size of lies, decisive ties of their unwise love,
Hector hatching heat, his aching heart searching for a hopeless home,
Saw so silently the cynical smile of his partner's palpitant part,
Her smoothed skinned slender body congruently curved into his,
Their bellowing breaths singing soothing songs to earless walls,
Both similarly stuck in a soporific frame of time, slowly sinking down to truth,
Angrily aware of the love they'd never share, the happy lovers brooded,
Shamefully,
The loathing lovers hid under covers, rovers of love that met meticulously,
As fate would have it, Cupid rapidly read through, mixing up numerous names,
Hector fell in love with a woman, he knew he could never have
Imagine ships glissading into harbour,
their masts scraping the sky, sails aloft,
billowy, like great bird wings fluttering.
Captains navigate their ships into port,
return voyages that crossed the seven seas,
riding the waves, north and south, east and west
from Jamaica to London to Timbuktu,
ship holds filled with bananas, sugar, rum
and molasses from sunny far-off lands.
Wives awaiting husbands’ safe return home,
pacing the widows walk, reading letters
sent months ago, hint of hardships and
menaces at sea that fuels anxiety:
imaginations run wild, spiralling –
fierce brigands besieging vessels at sea;
sudden squalls threaten ships, tossed to and fro,
waves like a leviathan, thrashes and roils,
wrecks run aground, pummelled by pounding surf.
At the kitchen table
Sat still like stone statues – petrified.
A sick game of musical chairs
Sat waiting for the muted music to play again.
Saplings uprooted early; replanted in rows
seated in toxic soil – a stunted growth.
Wooden faces: no smiles or frowns.
Emotions set in stone from eyes set on Medusa’s head.
The slim cracks in plates a widening schism
Where we sit stranded on one side.
An earthquake leaving never ending ripples in the water.
A word or deed, seen or heard. On repeat.
Chairs with no more legs to stand on. Everything and everyone on edge;
Braced to face a world turned upside down.
Sliding plates and tilted tables; fallen trees and twisted broccoli.
A seismic shift from foreboding calm to unnatural disaster.
With shattered glass come shattered dreams
Shards bursting imaginary balloons of hope – slivers of normalcy.
Promises smashed against the hard cold walls;
Fragmented, strewn and lost forever.
Reflections in the broken glass show broken faces –
A blackened eye, a frown mistaken for a smile.
Sliced lips hiding wobbly teeth; a stern and stoic jigsawed face.
Hiding years and months and days and lifetimes.
Ketchup splattered walls dripping fast past congealed blood
From last week, last year. Running parallel to tears on faces.
Races with no prizes for the winner once the finish line is crossed.
Blunt knives, sharp tongues. In a colour red
To go with black and blue and green and carrots, beets and peas.
Sealed lips, bitten tongues. Tension cut like a rusty knife
Through sweetest bread. Through gullet, throat or neck.
Heart and stomach; guts and innards without the glory.
Sweet tooth lying bloodied at the head of the table.
Unseated from its usual place. Yet no crown in sight. No coronation.
A King without kith or kin. No heart; just jacks and jokers
Pummelled hard with clubs and spades. With withered spoon for humble pie.
A cry for just desserts fit for a King: The final serving is a bag of frozen peas
Applied to faces with a frozen look - chiselled art with eyes still warm.
Tears like ice – shaped like shiny diamonds. Sat on tired cheeks –
Semi-permanent. Sure to thaw well before the King is overthrown.
The sea,
It raged,
It raged,
It raged,
As it pummelled
The lonely shore,
As if to say;
Dare to enter,
Dare to enter,
Dare to enter,
And you’ll see dry land -
No more …
You ask me to forgive you.
You ask me to excuse the hurt you caused,
the emotional injury you inflicted,
and the scars that won't heal.
You ask me to accept apologies.
You want to hug my bruised memories
and caress my pummelled spirit,
to impart some platitude.
You ask me to find it in my heart
to love you. Did you love me
when you battered me into submission
without remission, did you love me then?
Strange love to hurt so much,
I recoil from your touch as you
try to stroke my injured pride.
I scream inside, but no sound comes out.
I trusted you and you betrayed me.
I loved you once but you waylaid
and raped my certitude, your credibility
discredited by your duplicity.
So, you want me to forgive you?
Do you know what I want in return?
I want to release my incarcerated memory.
I want to trust, to dip my toe in the water
of deliverance and tango to the rhythm of love.
I want to move forward. Propel myself toward
the future. Yes, I forgive you, for
in forgiving you I liberate myself.
dependent on your every whim
the yoyo of just a single word
moods that sway in ups and downs
compromising an artificial game
heart off kilter in the balance
pummelled wobbly dazed and woozy
AP: 3rd place 2022
Posted on June 26, 2022
Pummelled intensity, underneath we face her force
Exhaled wide eyed in white, witness rainforest exhibit
Splashed grins enfold a third tongue, waterfall
Her glistening christening combines us in sublime
Drilled by severity, her embrace as strong as yours
Like waterfall's flattened rock, I erode, smoothed
Standing fused firm against her punishing torrent
Insatiable waterfall baptism pelts my opened senses
Cleansed by new beginnings, deafened by dedication
Buckets of vision catch my breath in virgin shroud
Faces almost touching give lee from ferocious gush
Together steadied in her rapidly travelled path
Lacklustre lizards, afterwards secure sun's approval
Ancient rock sears wet backsides without burning
Snoozing pulls us here and there consecutively
Amorous dreams unmeasured as Saturday morning
Drying dares our sizzled legs go again to her vigour
Your rigid gaze raises my temperature, raging
Exposed thoughts post drenching return me
Pause flushes me with water's unwieldy ways
20th August 2020
Hollow as a crooked pipe conducting waste to the corroded sewer
Vacant and obscure like a Freudian void on a cold lavatory seat
Hollow as a piper’s flute waiting for nimble charming fingers
Vacant like a comatose stare reflecting mindless nothingness
Shallow as a muddy puddle pummelled by boots from wet feet
Superficial like a scratch on a bubble conceding trivial defeat
Shallow as a trickling tributary succumbed to inarticulate drought
Superficial like a crowded scream never leaving mute fears
Fallow as unwanted seeds swirling around into darkness
Dormant like a sleepy reminder of night mares fighting for victory
Fallow as untilled soil longing for cultivated surrender
Dormant like a tired tramp homeless and halting suspense
Mellow as marsh mallows molten on deep cutting sticks
Bitter sweet like a camp fire sending smoke into nowhere
Mellow only in that as it rhymes with bellow and gallows
Sweet bitter and numb like waste in a lone piper’s dream
the aroma of old people pepper air with putrid
perspiration tainting, we sit once again on settees
loosely puckered by pummelled
time like skin hung brittly on bones,
limbs locked on rusted pulleys
prising on old hinges heaving heavy levers.
rites are routinely enacted with drinks
placed on beer mats
old stories retold like fisherman tales
spun from seaward treks Past photographs framed
gallery the white walls of graduations and weddings
Each portrait embossed edged with vellum
a masterpiece of genes some forty five years ago
but present now in the fire sharing their warmth
who else could share the embers beyond years.
You prod the coal fire
like grey ashen coals, relics spring scarlet
as the clock ticks, seeking the best ways
over life's sharpened, rocky paths that would
wound, scarring shins rasping breath as a summit
was viewed clouded
A contest on aging
Emile Pinet
1 June 2019
Hitchhiking out of Teslin
Gary,
Gary,
Gary
I could have been somebody Gary.
I was going to law school Gary.
Why do you smoke weed Gary?
It makes you stupid Gary,
Do you want to go through life being stupid Gary?
Gary hunched down like he was being physically pummelled, he looked right, left, right again. Trapped.
He was driving, she shotgun, kid in the middle.
I yell from the back seat,
Garry,
Garry,
Garry,
Put your foot into it Gary!